


Merely a Madness

by BonesOfBirdWings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesOfBirdWings/pseuds/BonesOfBirdWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're broken. In some cases, they'd be able to heal the other's gaping wounds, fill the other's empty places, piece the other one back together again. Sometimes, though, it doesn't work out that nicely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merely a Madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malapropian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/gifts).



> Inspired by Love Songs Drug Songs by the X Ambassadors.
> 
> Warnings in the tags.
> 
> For Mala, because they are likely the reason I wrote this. Angsty daddy kink - I don't even know where this came from.

“Oh, Stiles,” Peter sighed as his boy stumbled into the apartment, reeking of marijuana and cheap liquor. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” His voice was harsh, but the hands that caught Stiles and laid him down on the couch were gentle.

“I can,” Stiles slurred, flailing out one of his hands towards Peter. “I can do whatever.” He giggled. “And you can’t….” He stopped suddenly and Peter only barely made it out of the way as vomit splattered across his hardwood floor.

“Beautiful,” Peter said, his lip curling in disgust. “So it’s going to be one of those nights, is it?” In response, Stile smiled dopily at him while he clumsily reached out this right hand to fumble at Peter’s fly. Peter sharply smacked his hand away.

“Daddy,” Stiles whined with an exaggerated pout.

“I refuse to even kiss you while you smell like that swill that you seem to favor,” Peter firmly stated, carefully navigating around the puke to hoist the boy into his arms. “Here, let’s get you in the shower.”

“No,” Stiles moaned, wriggling in his arms. “I want….” One of his hands flailed out towards Peter’s lips, almost hitting him in the head. “Daddy, please?” He attempted to coyly bat his eyes at Peter.

“Oh, baby boy,” Peter said, lowering his head to plant a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “No. Shower and then bed, alright?”

“Alright,” Stiles repeated, before tossing his head and vomiting again, this time all over Peter’s v-neck.

“Lovely. Well,” Peter smiled humorlessly, “it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

 

* * *

 

“Good morning,” Peter said as Stiles staggered into the kitchen. “How’s your headache?”

“Awful,” Stiles groaned. “Can I get a pain drain please, Daddy?”

“Certainly,” Peter replied with a smile. When Stiles stumbled over to him, he held out his open hand, revealing a pair of aspirin tablets.

“What’s this?”

“Why, it’s your pain drain, dear boy.” When Stiles failed to take the two pills from Peter’s hand, he dumped them onto the table.

“You feel like eating anything?” Peter continued, rising from his seat to grab a glass and fill it with water from the tap.

“No,” Stiles replied grumpily, flopping into the seat that Peter had vacated. “And can you shut the blinds, please?”

“Why?” Peter placed the glass in front of Stiles with a loud thump that made him cringe in pain. “I think the sun is beautiful this morning, don’t you?”

“What the fuck?” Stiles exclaimed angrily. “Peter, you know I get god-awful hangovers.”

“Ah,” Peter smiled at Stiles serenely. “But I didn’t guzzle down my weight in cheap whiskey yesterday. So there’s no reason _I_ can’t enjoy the sunshine.”

“What is this supposed to be?” Stiles demanded. “Some passive-aggressive way to say that you think I drink too much or something? Why don’t you just say it straight to my face?”

“Fine,” Peter said. “You drink too much.”

Stiles snorted, snatching up the aspirin and the glass of water from the wooden table. “Don’t fool yourself, Daddy,” he said, pausing to down the aspirin and half of the water in several large gulps. “You’re not my _Dad_.”

“No,” Peter retorted with a small sneer, “I’m not – thank goodness.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“Just that I’m thankful that I don’t have such a _disappointment_ for a son.”

Both of them were stunned silent for a long moment, Stiles’ mouth slightly agape and Peter’s eyes wide in surprise.

“A disappointment,” Stiles repeated, his expression strangely blank. “A disappointment.” He laughed hollowly. “Good to know what you think of me.”

Peter stared inscrutably at him, his hands rhythmically clenching into fists and relaxing.

“No?” Stiles asked, his eyes swimming with hurt, but his mouth twitching with the hint of a snarl. “Nothing else? You don’t want to elaborate on that, _Daddy_?” The last word was sharp, pointed.

Peter briefly shut his eyes, as if in pain. When he opened them again, his face betrayed nothing.

“You’re killing yourself,” he said.

“What do you care?” Stiles spat violently, pushing himself up and away from the table.

“Oh, baby boy,” Peter murmured, his blank expression melting into something gentle and achingly tender. He stalked up to Stiles and firmly grasped the nape of his neck. “I love you so much, don’t you know?”

“Do you?” Stiles challenged, fixing his eyes intently on Peter’s face. “Even though I’m a _disappointment_?”

“You know I didn’t mean that. It just…” Peter sighed, his other hand drifting up to wrap around Stiles’ waist. “I don’t like it when you come home smelling of whiskey, drugs, and pain.

“I could,” he continued, his hand drifting down from Stiles’ neck along the length of his arm to catch his hand. He traced one clawed finger delicately around Stiles’ wrist contemplatively. “I could…. It would be so easy. Just a few little _slices_ ….” His claw pressed a little harder into Stiles’ flesh as he looked up at Stiles, a manic gleam in his eye.

“No, Peter,” Stiles said firmly, tugging his hand out of Peter’s grip. “You can’t go out and kill my drinking buddies. You know very well that they have nothing to do with this.”

“But if I did, perhaps then….”

“No,” Stiles replied sharply, “I wouldn’t stop. It… it makes it all go quiet. All the little parts that….” He broke off with a sharp exhalation. “Whatever. I don’t have to fucking justify myself.”

Peter scowled. “There’s other ways to do that.”

“Like what?” Stiles scoffed.

“Didn’t you say that sex made it –”

“Oh!” Stiles interrupted. “Oh, I get it now. Are you jealous, Daddy?” he taunted. “Upset that I rely on something that isn’t you for comfort? Disappointed that you’re not the only fucking thing in my life?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You’re treading on thin ice, baby boy.”

“Oh, am I? What are you going to do about it? Turn me over your knee and spank me?” Stiles simpered, eyes wide and faux-innocent. “Lock away all the big-boy bottles?” His face hardened and his lips curled into a sneer. “Or maybe I could just turn around and walk out that door –”

Before he could even step towards the front door, Peter had one hand secured around his waist and the other locked around his throat.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, his previous gentle expression transformed into something terrible and violent. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Stiles smiled as he swallowed against the constricting vice of Peter’s hand. “There you are,” he said, a darkly satisfied note in his voice. “Hello, Peter.”

Peter sneered at him. “Is this what you wanted then?” he asked contemptuously. “Violence, force? Does it make the Nogitsune voices ‘go quiet’?”

“No.”

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to understand,” Stiles replied. “I could walk out that door.” He snorted. “Hell, I _should_ walk out that door. And if you, by manipulation or force, try to cage me in a little prison of your own design, I will.” He smiled humorlessly at Peter. “It seems you always need occasional reminders.”

Peter stared at Stiles for a long moment, before he withdrew his hand from Stiles’ throat and regained his previous soft, tender expression.

“Of course, my dear,” he said, gently stroking Stiles’ close-cropped hair. “You do what you need to.” He laid a sweet, feather-light kiss on Stiles’ lips.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Stiles grinned at him brightly, and if there was a hint of triumph in his smile, neither of them mentioned it. “And I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flightofmorning)
> 
> Happy ilu day, Mala!


End file.
